The Stair to Heaven

The Stair to Heaven

The stair is white, it climbs the air.

It bends through clouds, it hums with fire.

Each step is carved, with names of stone.

The living climb, the dead look on.

The air is sharp, the light is heavy.

It blinds the eyes, it burns the hands.

The stair is endless, yet still it calls.

The higher you go, the more you fade.

The sky is wide, it does not end.

The voices sing, but not for you.

They echo cold, they echo high.

The song is thin, it pulls the breath.

The stair grows steep, the knees grow weak.

The pulse is loud, the bones grow frail.

Each step is slow, the weight is vast.

The body cracks, the soul grows pale.

Yet still they climb, with hope in hand.

The mothers, fathers, children lost.

They grip the stone, they will not stop.

They beg the sky, to open wide.

At last the crown, a gleam of fire.

The clouds are torn, the stair is gone.

The sky is void, the light is thin.

The end is air, and nothing more.